


The Affair of the Black Count

by Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Zenda Novels - Anthony Hope
Genre: Gen, Great Hiatus, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sigerson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-14 18:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18953476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/pseuds/Gray%20Cardinal
Summary: Some months after Reichenbach, a certain Edgar Sigerson finds himself in the capital city of Ruritania just as a new king is to be crowned.  Is it any wonder that complications ensue?





	The Affair of the Black Count

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luthienberen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/gifts).



Let it be understood at once: nothing in the following account can be blamed on John Watson.  The events related occurred some months after I had left the good doctor’s side following the episode at Reichenbach Falls, and even after we were reunited some years later, I chose not to acquaint him with the details of the affair in question.

My reasons for this should become apparent shortly.  Watson has noted in his own writings, not without reason, that I was often wont to criticize his literary style as excessively dramatic and prone to highlight romantic or lurid elements over scientific reasoning.  In fairness, Watson correctly points out that this was an inappropriate criticism, as his accounts of our cases were never meant as scholarly works. 

I admit that I did not fully appreciate that distinction until I had lived through my experiences in the tiny central European nation of Ruritania, which for outright implausibility rival even the narratives of such talespinners as Verne, Wells, or Poe.  The mere unlikelihood of distant cousins having the appearance of nearly identical twins is nothing as compared to one of the two having become…but I ought not run so far ahead of myself.

As my prior comment should suggest, the Ruritanian adventure began some while after the deaths of Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty had been reported in the international press.  Thanks to Mycroft, I was traveling under a Norwegian passport issued to one Edgar Sigerson, an explorer, mountaineer, and geologist of modest means and minor reputation.  Thus did I find myself, on a somewhat gray June afternoon, seated at a sidewalk café in the city of Strelsau, Ruritania’s capital.  An informant of Mycroft’s, it seemed, had gone unexpectedly silent on the eve of a potentially sensitive moment in that country’s political sphere.

Several tables further along the sidewalk, two gentlemen sat facing one another, engaged in brisk, low-voiced conversation.  One, though not actually dressed as such, was in the uniformed service of the local royal family.  The other, based on certain photographs Mycroft had supplied, was either the highest possible royalty – Rudolf Elfberg, set to be crowned within the week as Rudolf V, King of Ruritania – or his nearly identical twin.  I strongly suspected the latter to be the case, strengthening Mycroft’s sense that trouble was brewing.  In addition to various intrigues set in motion by assorted factions within the Ruritanian nobility, a recent incident in neighboring Transylvania had my brother nosing about for connections.  One of the latter nation’s minor nobles had disappeared under curious, potentially nasty circumstances, and combined with the vanishing of Mycroft’s own Ruritanian contact, he was more than usually concerned.

 / / /

On the night before the coronation, we faced one another across the dark expanse of the palace’s grand ballroom, ill-lit and riddled with shadows.  “So,” said the silken voice of the Black Count from out of the darkness.  “Tarlenheim.  Sigerson.  Rassendyll.  Gentlemen, I invite you to surrender.  You have no hope; in a few short hours, the true and rightful Rudolf V will assume his crown – and in that moment, Ruritania will be mine to guard, guide, and secure against all foes.  Which of you is ready to attempt treason and regicide to depose and destroy this realm’s legitimate monarch?”

Tarlenheim’s response was immediate.  “The treason is yours, invader.  You wield uncanny powers and dark arts purely to your own benefit – never Ruritania’s.  You have ruined Rudolf’s mind beyond recovery; he is no longer fit to be King.  Rudolf Rassendyll is an Elfberg by birth: honorable, courageous, resourceful.  By his courtesy and sacrifice, Ruritania may win peace and prosperity where chaos and strife would otherwise reign.  Stand aside, Count, and perhaps you and yours will survive the night.”

The Black Count’s laughter was deep and resonant.  “You threaten _me_ with death, child?  I, who am Death’s own master and herald?  I tell you freely, I am beyond your power to destroy…and so, now, is King Rudolf himself.  I say again: surrender, and depart the field.”

“Death’s master?” That was Rassendyll, his voice clear and even.  “Why not just say ‘vampire’?  Not elegant enough?  And you admit you’ve turned my cousin – which would mean he’s dead, technically, so crowning him now would hardly be legal.  Next in line would be…let’s see, Michael, but you had him killed weeks ago.  Then – Rupert?  He’d never let you near enough to be dangerous.  If he’s still in the game, he’ll wait till you’re off the board.  I do believe that leaves one marginally proper Elfberg in the room, and it isn’t you.”

“That can be remedied,” said the Black Count, a note of impatience entering his tone.  “Yield now, or it is you who shall be destroyed.”

“I admire your optimism,” Rassendyll said cheerfully.  “A pity it’s misplaced.  Last chance, then: go quietly – or don’t.”

The Count’s reply was curt.  “Little flyers?  _Swarm_!”

From high in the upper reaches of the ballroom’s rafters, a cloud of bats erupted downward – and was met in mid-air, as a veritable parliament of owls swept through a row of open windows along a balcony two floors above us. 

Meanwhile, on the ground floor, it was no longer dark.  Flames had shot up from the floor in a bright, neatly scribed circle surrounding the Black Count – so named, it seemed, for the color of his dramatically swirling cloak, as his sharp facial features were preternaturally pale.  The would-be King Rudolf was beside him, his own features haggard and his posture stooped; the Count’s hypnotic abilities had evidently exacted a severe toll on his body.

“Mortal or otherwise,” I said, “I would not attempt to step across the barrier.  I believe someone has added a second ring just outside the first, formed of water duly blessed by the Archbishop of Strelsau just yesterday.  I am told that if there were such things as vampires, they would find it impossible to pass such a barrier.”

The Count’s eyes blazed nearly as brightly as the alcohol-fueled fire dividing us.  “Why, Mr. Sigerson,” he said, trying not to growl, “I had thought you were a skeptic regarding the existence of vampires.”

“So I am,” I replied.  “I am also, however, a pragmatist.  The additional precaution harms no one, and should my views on the supernatural prove in error, it may in fact be of value.”

“Clever,” said the Count.  “But it will not avail.  You cannot sustain a fire like this for long; in a few moments, it will sputter out, and I shall be free to kill you all at my leisure.”

I smiled.  “I beg to differ.  I have accomplished precisely what I intended.  Goodbye, Count Dracula, formerly of Transylvania.”

The Black Count’s eyebrows shot upward as I spoke his name – and then he pitched suddenly forward as a flaming arrow penetrated his chest from above and behind, causing him to stagger forward and into the edge of my own ring of fire.  There was a bright orange flash, a _whoof_ of charred, powdery flesh, and then nothing at all.

I glanced upward, toward the balcony from which the owls had come.  “Colonel Sapt, I presume?”

“Quite!” that individual called down. He was an ally and companion of von Tarlenheim, and had played his part in the evening’s encounter to perfection.  “Shall I dispatch the other, as well?”

Rudolf – whose resemblance to Rassendyll was, despite the former’s current uncertain and possibly undead state, legitimately uncanny – had not taken his master’s demise well.  He was cowering on the floor, moaning wordlessly, and smelled as if he had not bathed since the Count’s powers had taken over his mind.

“Watch him,” I replied.  “If he is able to pass the circle of holy water, then he is no vampire and may benefit from medical treatment.  If he is not…his fate is more your concern than mine.”

“And in that event,” put in Tarlenheim, “true death might be the greatest possible mercy.”

I turned my attention to Rudolf Rassendyll.  “Even if he survives the night, your namesake is not now – and most likely will never be – mentally capable of ruling Ruritania.  Nor, as you observed to the Black Count, is any other legitimate candidate readily available.  The solution would seem obvious; are you prepared for it?”

Rassendyll took one deep breath, then another.  “I’m not sure I deserve the honor.  And we can’t move forward at all unless Princess Flavia agrees.  But as the only marginally proper Elfberg left in the room,” he said, his smile more than a trifle crooked, “I think I damned well have to be.”

/ / /

It was not, of course, possible for Edgar Sigerson and Rudolf Rassendyll to meet once again at their preferred streetside café following the coronation of Rudolf V as Ruritania’s newest monarch.  The king’s popularity doomed any attempt at so public an incognito venture to failure.  And though Sigerson might – especially given his part in the affair – be plausibly summoned to a royal audience, neither he nor the king could expect any sort of privacy during such an encounter.

Thus it was that, a few days after the ceremony, a minor aide of the King’s engaged a private dining room in a bistro near Strelsau’s railway depot on the same afternoon that Sigerson turned up at the same establishment.  After an exchange of greetings, the retainer invited the explorer to join the party gathered for luncheon.  Sigerson readily agreed…

…and was ushered into the unannounced presence of King Rudolf V, née Rassendyll, who smiled heartily at his visitor.  “Leaving so soon?” the new-minted king inquired.

“It would be unwise to linger, Your Highness,” I replied.  “As a self-professed adventurer, I cannot stay too long in one place without arousing curiosity in others that neither of us can afford.”

Rassendyll sighed.  “No doubt you are right.  Yet I cannot help but wish otherwise.  There are so few true allies here in whom I can fully confide, and I am ill-used to having such power as I now possess.”

“Few they may be,” said I, “but I think you will find them both loyal and invaluable.  Von Tarlenheim, I have no doubt, will defend and advise you well, and as for your queen—”

“As for Flavia,” said Rassendyll, his eyes bright, “I could have no greater partner in any life.  I thank you for saving the man I was, and believing in the man I hope to become.”  He gestured at his aide, who handed him a slim, rectangular jeweler’s box marked with the Ruritanian royal crest.

I attempted to wave it away.  “I need no recognition for my actions here.”

“Perhaps not,” said Rassendyll, a note of royal steel emerging from beneath his friendly manner, “but we – and I use that word in all its senses – must insist.  History shall record that among his first royal decrees, King Rudolf V awarded the Star of Ruritania to one Edgar Sigerson for extraordinary services to the Crown.“  With a flick of his finger, he opened the box to reveal a four-pointed star of burnished gold with a white diamond set into its center, attached to a sturdy chain of equally brilliant gold.

“As you will, then,” I said. “But let me beg one favor.  To carry such a treasure on my current travels would be difficult and unwise.  I have a – relative in London whom I trust to guard it for me; let me just give you an address for its delivery.”

Rassendyll – more properly, King Rudolf – raised an eyebrow.  “If we must.  But as you know, I too have relatives in London.  If we should hear that an English jeweler has melted down a gift from Ruritanian royalty….”  He chuckled, but the steel was still there alongside his genuine amusement.

I lifted a hand in surrender.  “Perish the thought!  My – cousin would not do such a thing.”  I removed a pencil and note-book from an inner pocket, wrote out one of the several addresses Mycroft kept for receiving confidential messages, and began to contemplate the report he would expect on receiving Edgar Sigerson’s medal.  “However, I must strongly advise against any mention of vampires in whatever message accompanies the medal.”

At that, Rudolf V, née Rassendyll, now crowned ruler of all Ruritania, broke into genuine laughter.  “I quite agree; our palace intrigues are more than sufficiently improbable without invoking the occult.  And that being settled,” he added, “let us turn our attention to culinary matters.”

And so we did.

**Author's Note:**

> The authenticity of the foregoing account is certain to be questioned by scholars of nearly all the historical figures involved. One problem arises from the dates involved -- Holmes implicitly puts these events in 1891, the year of the incident at Reichenbach, whereas at least one source places Rudolf V's coronation in 1887, and if one believes Holmes' narration, the events of Bram Stoker's _Dracula_ must have occurred in 1890 or 1891 (a relatively early dating by most accounts). The geography is also open to some question, as it is not now possible to confirm -- as Holmes further implies -- that Ruritania and Transylvania were direct neighbors.
> 
> One is further left to wonder how to reconcile the attitudes expressed in the much later _Adventure of the Sussex Vampire_ with Holmes' direct encounter with Dracula himself in the present narrative. In this light, Holmes' own introduction is perhaps relevant -- and suggests indirectly that it may have been Watson, not Holmes, who was especially uncomfortable with the intrusion of such things as vampires into the Holmesian sphere. (It is also possible that Watson and Conan Doyle may have had disagreements on spiritual matters during the period when SUSS was published, which could have affected the manuscript's character in this regard.)
> 
> Further complicating the matter of authenticity is the fact that this manuscript, purporting to be written by Holmes, is almost entirely inconsistent with that of the Watsonian narrative published by David Stuart Davies as _Sherlock Holmes and the Hentzau Affair_ (not to mention certain aspects of the original Anthony Hope novels concerning Ruritania)...save that Holmes' description of the Star of Ruritania exactly resembles that of Watson's in _Hentzau Affair_.
> 
> Clearly, more research is needed in this quarter....


End file.
